Of Clocks, Cigarettes and Alcohol
by le-renegat
Summary: And silence told him everything there was to know. Sanzo/Goku, 39.


**Fandom:** Saiyuki

**Pairing:** Sanzo/Goku, 39

**Disclaimer/warnings:** Saiyuki is not mine. It belongs to Minekura Kazuya, so no sueing please.

These tiny pieces are connected - they're from what one might call 'the same moment' in time, but they do not preceed or follow eachother, and they're not really supposed to be AU.

These contain _**yaoi**_ or, as you may call it, _sexual__** male/male**_ relationship. If the genre's not to your liking, please hit the 'x' button.

* * *

**I.**

Sanzo tapped his fingers against the newspaper-covered table as he inhaled the white-ish smoke. Cigarette butts stuck out of the black stone ashtray and as he spared it a glance, he strangely felt like coughing. Maybe he was smoking too much.

He looked at the news without really seeing them. The cheap beer can stood in the centre of the mess, droplets of condensed water running down the thin metal container, yellow liquid undoubtedly becoming warmer and warmer as time passed by. The clock ticked rhythmically, its golden pendulum trapped in the usual drowsing movement. 1:32 am.

Another cigarette was put out as he waited. The smoke lingered heavy in the air, hitting the massively big mirror, and he fixed his amethyst eyes on his reflected image. Tired expression, bones showing out in a too-thin body and disgustingly yellow-ish teeth - a hollow man.

The ashes fell bit by bit as the clock showed 1:41 am. Maybe he shouldn't be waiting afterall. He should have gone drink with Gojyo at the bar like he normally would. The red-haired man would be surrounded by whores, each one of them pressing their voluptuous breasts against his back, arms or ribcage (or either), and he would pity Hakkai, who'd sit on a table nearby, staring unwaveringly at the wooden table whilst drinking an inhuman ammount of absynth.

And Goku, slouched back and shoulders, would stand on the stairs' last step and stare at him with those big golden eyes, sighing every now and then, silently but clearly wondering.

_When had they become like this?_

He looked at the mahjong game pieces lying on the floor, remembering how the monkey seemed to lose each and every game they had ever played. Now the games were even scarcer than smiles or words. His fan hadn't found it's way to Goku's or Gojyo's head in a long time. Hakkai didn't smile anymore. Goku wouldn't ramble. Gojyo seemed to smoke more, if possible.

And still, he waited. The clock showed 1:56 am. Time was passing too slowly for his liking, and the morbid silence was beginning to get on his nerves. He didn't like waiting - he was not patient like Hakkai or air-headed like Gojyo, if the action wouldn't come to him we'd know not what to do.

He didn't know anymore, though. Their changed were so foreign to him he felt as if he were travelling with completely different people. Even so, the monkey's saddened golden orbs haunted his mind, the feeling of unwanted change flowing through to him from that glazed look making him almost regurgitate with uneasiness.

He closed his eyes, downing the rest of the can's content. He couldn't take it, even though trying to deceive himself. From what, though? What did freaking _pride_ mean in a world of repressed-but-still-present self-consciousness?

He might not truly admit, but he was waiting for the boy to come, for the night to be forgotten and only be remembered when the sun woke them up, shining bright on their faces through the curtains' slits. And he might not even fully know, but he did love the young man and his goofy smiles and his innocent little eyes and remarks. And he loved him so, it was hard to breathe.

No more smell of fire or dead cigarettes, the window was open and the moon shone high up in the sky.

2 am.

And the door opened.

.

**II.**

Sometimes Sanzo didn't seem to know what to make of Goku's behaviour or sudden changes thereof.

So he hadn't quite known what his reaction should've been when he opened the door to his and the young man's chambers and saw a fine lit cigarette dangling from perfect, full lips. However, he couldn't bring himself to do more than stand there, stupefied (even though he would _never_ admit it to anybody else), his bony hand sliding from the doorframe to rest limply against his side.

He looked into the boy's eyes for a moment, Goku staring back at him so intently one might practically say those golden orbs could speak. Then he soundlessly entered the room, door soundlessly closed behind him, settling his gaze on the big wooden-framed clock on the wall, its hands moving constantly as he failed to commit the time to mind.

3:45 am.

It was not as if he hadn't known, he assured himself as he opened a beer can, gulping down the sour yellow liquid without even tasting it. He just didn't want to know, didn't want to wonder why.

Feline eyes scrutinised him, and the room was unexpectedly way too hot, his palms sweating and his thoughts mingling indistinguishably. He sat down on one of the filthy beds, taking out his robes and a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and puffing away. He knew what the monkey silently asked him, and he didn't like it - not in the tiniest bit. The words were thick as the smoke in the air, unsaid yet loud enough to be heard.

_Why is it that you keep on leaving, Sanzo?_

He knew and yet he didn't. He just kept his mute and expressionless façade, absorbed to no end in his addictions. As he gracelessly brought the fag to his lips, the world semed to turn a tad slower, clouds blocking and then unblocking the moonlight, the monkey's hand smashing a butt into the ashtray, emanating exaustion and helplessness.

And next thing he knew he was cupping Goku's face, chocolate brown hair tickling his fingers and his cheeks as he kissed him desperately, all tongues and teeth and lips. He could feel the boy's tears wetting their faces as he responded intensely, a muffled wimper breaking the quietness.

_Sex is not beautiful_ - it was something the monk had kept on telling himself on many occasions. It was not altruistical or shit like that - quite on the contrary, it was ugly, selfish, cruel; a battle to satisfy one's needs of carnal pleasure, a hopeless need to reach one's core, invading them with both your body and your soul. It was so foul and yet...

... so damn addicting.

They had cried out loud enough to wake the living dead, and they felt strangely complete, satisfied. He left an out-of-charatered gentle kiss in the monkey's lips, violet eyes looking down as if merging into golden. It was silent then, and they both turned to look at the clock.

5:06 am.

"So you smoke now.", it was not a question.

"I don't.", it was not quite an answer too.

Silence.

"So what were those for?"

"To understand ya."

.

**III.**

Sanzo calmly sipped his eighth mug of beer, droopy violet eyes focusing and unfocusing, staring at the dirty balcony. He could faintly hear Gojyo's flirting in the distance and felt the warm and silent presence of Hakkai by his side, the man's stench of vodka so strong he swore that if he had any more of it, he'd just turn his head to the other side and vomit.

Sometimes he wondered if time had just stopped. His fingers scratched the scarred wood for what seemed to him a lifetime, warm and cozy lights fading and unfading around him, everything so surreal he wondered whether he was still alive or not.

It was all so devoid of motion, so devoid of life he felt as if in the midst of one of those silent films - the minimal action leading to his understanding, but all the voices still kept silent. Everything was still, and yet there was alcohol, there were cigarettes, there were lights and there were those sparkling golden eyes.

There was no emotion, no... nothing. No hurting deep inside, no heart broken, no feelings. There were just golden eyes and lingering kisses, evanescent touching and the warmth of two bodies that seemed to strongly attract eachother. And in a way - and somehow - Sanzo was sure it was for the best.

And then he stood up, way beyond tipsy and definetely not able to balance himself properly, leaning hard on that dirty balcony, pathetic and yet apathetic. Nobody looked, nobody cared, nobody noticed - and he stumbled around, searching almost unconsciously for the stairs, going up and yet not sure of exactly where he was going to end up, the lights fading and unfading and fading again.

The truth was those blinking lights frightened the hell out of him.

And then he was lying down on the wooden corridor, all that warm lighting suddenly too disgustingly _warm_ for a drunken man, and he shut his eyes and grabbed handfuls of blond hair. And there was fear of all that motionlessness and that lack of feeling, and yet fear of whatever set those into motion.

Then he was alone.

And loneliness is massive, it shrinks you until you suffocate, gasping out for air as it is taken away from you and leaves you in that quiet, silent desperation.

And he was alone.

"Sanzo."

He opened his eyes and everything was blurry, clouded by alcohol and sleeplessness, and there was halo-ed brown hair and those insanely golden eyes. There was also shame, cascading down mercilessly. It was not supposed to be like that. The monkey was not supposed to come looking for him, but it was not as if he didn't understand.

The boy loved him.

And this love was so distant and so damn insignificant he felt like he maybe should _feel_ something. But he didn't. Goku's love couldn't mean anything to him, because he didn't love him - would not love him. Would never love him.

"Let's go back, Sanzo, you're too fuckin' drunk."

"No."

And Goku carried him back nonetheless, the pair of them stumbling around the corridor's walls and into the room, barely managing to stand firmly still. The monkey then threw him uncerimoniously on the bed, pulling the sheets over him, gently caressing his disheveled hair. The nasty stench of alcohol spread around, powerful, mingling with the put-out cigarette smell he loathed so much, and he felt like puking. Though he knew it wasn't really the foul smell.

"Love you, Sanzo.", it was quiet, deep, almost shameful of him. And that lack of an answer was definitive, overwhelming and somehow strange - he knew the boy was crying. And he grabbed the boy's hand as he meant to storm out of the room, hard, sweaty, meaningful.

"I'll never love you, Goku."

"I think that much was already established, Sanzo."

"Then why are you still waiting?"

And silence told him everything there was to know.

.

* * *

Uni's killing me - and driving me into a massive writer's block on the process. Again, English's not my first language, so bear with me, please.


End file.
